Moonlight shines on everybody just the same.
It doesn't matter that the time for moonlight has passed. Moonlight doesn't care about being appropriate. Diluted with the yellowy glow from the city, it shone on the car, giving it a sheen of silver over the green.
"Don't go thinking that I wanted to do this, because you know -- you know I didn't want to do this." They had been sitting on the hood of the car for long enough to let it cool beneath them, sitting close because it hadn't occurred to them yet not to sit close.
"What exactly are we doing, Ray? What is this, a divorce party?"
"Jesus, Ange." He had parked near a tree; when he raised his voice, one of the upper branches exploded with startled birds.
She sighed. "If this is supposed to be some kind of --"
"It's not supposed to be anything. I didn't want to come here."
She took his hand. "Then let's go."
"Ange --" He could hear the Ryan in the distance, the shrieking sound those big trucks made as they sped along. From the open window of the Riv, the radio played quietly -- draining his batteries, but what the hell.
She slid off the car and stood in front of him. Looked up into his eyes with that sphinxy little stare, her nose just slightly wrinkled. Finally she touched his chin. "Y'need to shave, Ray. You look like an old married guy."
He turned away. A cat ran lightly through the grass not far away, carrying something small and almost dead in its mouth.
Ange moved back from whatever she was seeing in his eyes. She was wearing cut-offs and her legs moved in that almost liquid way they had sometimes, pale in the moonlight. Swallowing, he followed.
She swayed to the radio music, humming. It was one of those whiny Styx ballads, way too close to home. He wrapped his arms around her tight and they swayed together. And then she made a little, sad sound and put her arms around his neck. That perfect click of bodies.
They almost crashed together against the tree, setting off the birds again.
"I didn't want to do this either." she whispered into his chest. He kissed her hair and then bent to kiss her mouth. "I didn't."
Far from the influence of sheets from K-Mart and a shared tube of toothpaste, it was easy to let teeth click, let his hands pull her up tight against him. A knot in the trunk of the tree jarred his back and he grunted.
"What is this, Ray, the Vecchio last stand?" And she pulled him down onto scratchy grass. They rolled so he was on his back.
He found her throat and kissed it, kissed it. "Remember the Alamo." he whispered into her ear. She laughed and hugged him tight. The laugh sounded strangled. Her hair was coming out of its bun.
"Ange. You--"
She jumped up, breathing hard, then, looking down at him, perched on the hood, her arms open for him. "C'mere. C'mere, Ray."
He came after her, pulled at the cut-offs, pulled at her buttons. Her bun fell apart completely and he combed through her hair with his fingers, standing in front of her.
Those small, practiced hands found his belt, and then did that little magic trick with the button-fly jeans. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and bit his ear. "Ray."
"Jesus, Ange."
He squeezed his eyes tight shut and cradled her close. This had been a mistake, a mistake, a great big
Oh god, the biggest mistake of his life.
She cried out into his chest and then just stayed still, tender with him in that last night of their marriage.